Days off

Unison go on strike.  We get two days off school - I say we, but really this it is the children who have time off.  Full-time mum has to go into overdrive.

Day 1: coincides nicely with the visit from Zambia of Number1 child's best friend.  Or, as he prefers to describe him, his cousin-in-law, given he is his aunt's husband's nephew (go with it: it's true).

So, a day-trip to London is set up, viewed as midway between the Isle of Wight and Newcastle.  Uneventful journeys, thank goodness.  Successfully meet up at King's Cross, followed by the inevitable toilet stop.  We catch a bus to Green Park, feeling like the ultimate tourist as we pore over a coloured map of the city, then picnic lunch on the 'green' part of the park.  Number2 child follows the boys over to the memorial to Canadian war heroes and, of course, falls in the water.  She has no choice but to be in wet clothes for the rest of the day, poor thing.

We pop across the road to see Her Majesty.  She's at home, to our surprise.  Doesn't invite us in for tea though.

Next stop, ice-cream (they've come over from Zambia: how can they possibly think it is hot enough to warrant ice-cream?) then underground to the Science Museum.

I lose Number2 child.  Tell myself not to panic and go hunting.  She's in the next room, happy as larry, and completely oblivious to the idea that wandering off away from her mother in a huge museum where there are hundreds of people milling about might be in any way concerning.

We pull out the stops for a BK meal at Leicester Square before parting again.  I've filled up on as much Zambian gossip as we can squeeze into conversation uninterrupted by children; they've filled up with running around and free Batman toys.  We wend our way home - exhausted but delighted.

Day 2 - I've agreed to take Number1 child's friend to the National Railway Museum in York.  It is great, but after yesterday I could really have done with a lie in...

Still, the museum never fails to interest me.  The boys love the model railway, I love the royal carriages, Number2 child loves to wander off...  Had a picnic lunch there and watched the friend sniffing my daughter's hair.  Is this supposed to happen before they reach Junior School?  I know they're growing up quickly but this feels excessive! 

Given the space available, I felt quite proud returning the friend to his mum at the end of the day knowing that I had never lost him, whereas my own offspring seem to disappear at the drop of a hat. 

Feel remarkably virtuous to have achieved all this on 'days off' - and little more than a week before the house move.  Collapse with exhaustion as the little darlings return for the final day of the school term and year.  Now only the six weeks of summer holidays to go...

First Class Treatment

Half-term brought a series of joys.

Firstly, the children went to visit Grannie & Gramps.  For the whole week.  The extent of my duties were to travel to Peterborough to dispose of them, and then be on time to collect them at the end of the week.  Clearly I failed at the latter: personal failure rather than something I can blame on the trains, but not so disastrous as to mean I didn't get them back.  The children, that is.

Secondly, I'd decided to treat myself to a first class ticket each way when travelling alone.  I decided that I could blow the entire £56 I have earned this year on such a treat, only to discover it was only £6 more than second-class each way.  Still got £44 to spend...

Not that I was going to spend it on dining at the table, of course.  The first journey (back from Peterborough) was an adventure: what did first class really mean?  Clearly it offered wider seats and, I noted, a table at every seat.  One of the most annoying things about train travel is not having a table, particularly if you want to work at your laptop, or marking papers, or your five-year-old wants to colour in endless pictures.  Anyway, I was sharing a table with three other first-class virgins, who were heading to Edinburgh for a hen night.  I can now categorically state that champagne does not help when writing sermons (the latter had to be completely reconstructed by my husband in time for an assessed service the next day).  But I had a great time!

For the journey back to collect the kids I took full advantage for first-class freebies.  I discovered Newcastle has a First Class Lounge.  I could get free orange juice, tea, coffee and biscuits - although I had not left enough time for this before the train left.  Then I realised that these were also provided on the train itself.  I did pick up a copy of The Times and exploited the trolley service as much as possible: bottled water, fruit, packets of biscuits.  Perhaps - just perhaps - I took as much as the extra £6 it cost.  Certainly the kids benefitted from the snaffled biccies on their journey home with me!

The only downside to half-term was the misery of stress back home.  Whilst I enjoy all the travelling and seeing the world, how I long to be established and settled and providing a concrete future for my children.  Yet uncertainty abounds: husband's job, house rental, house purchase, education standards.  Should I get a job and stay here?  No sooner do I decide something than I un-decide it.

Still, the children are back now and I realise just how much I live for them.  And, thankfully, they also seemed quite glad to be back with me too.

Going up to London

Why do we go 'up' to London, even though it is down from my northern home?

My day-trip to London was, travel-wise, largely uneventful.  I shared a table on the way down with a couple of ladies who clearly examine students for PE.  (I recognise that I am an inveterate eavesdropper on conversations in this manner.)  The train was merely 10 minutes late, but that resulted in mad dashes for us all to get to our meetings.  The journey back was even less eventful.

In the middle I attended a conference for chartered accountants who have had a career break and are considering returning to work.  This was interesting for a number of reasons.  Primarily, it was the first time I had been to the HQ of the ICAEW.  Quite a building!  Clearly full of Victorian architecture and no doubt thousands of pounds of my annual subscription is spent just keeping the building looking like it does.  Probably worth it, although I do sometimes question how much we, the great British public, uphold our inherited buildings at the cost of modern functionality.

The meetings themselves were excellent: all the speakers spoke well.  No-one offered me a job on the spot (not probable, but always hopeful...) Rather disheartening to hear that the best way to get a part-time job is to go full time for 6 months and then request a reduction in hours.  I guess I could do to find a CA here that would also like to work a few hours and job-share.

I then spent a delightful afternoon in the library in the building.  The free wireless internet allowed me to update the cricket score frequently on my laptop!  I did pretend to do some work: the tales from Zambia are coming along slowly... very, very slowly.

My greatest surprise of the day was how pleasant the underground was at 5.30, going back to King's Cross.  Surely this is rush hour, a mad rush as everyone clamours to get on the train back to the 'burbs?  But no: I even got a seat!  Perhaps it wouldn't be so appalling to live in London again ...

Old haunts, old friends (2)

The original purpose of the visit: Sunday.  It turned out that you cannot get to Edinburgh from Newcastle by train on a Sunday before 11am, so Saturday was added on as a way out of this problem.  Cannot even begin to understand the mindset that has no trains going north of the border until lunchtime, but heck - no-one has asked me to run Network Rail yet.  Perhaps if they did ...

Our venue at 11am was our church in Leith.  After many years of worship there, the Methodist Church as decided to combine four churches in the city into one City church and we were invited to the final Sunday morning service in the church.  I thought it would be emotional, teary, sad, but I should have known better. I am priviledged to have worked and worshipped there. I have never been to such a cheerful, enthusiastic, open church in the UK, full of innovative ideas, full of God's praise. 

Full of food too.  The buffet was a banquet and I suspect many church members will be eating ham sandwiches for weeks to come.

Of course, this also gave us the opportunity to meet up with friends whom we haven't seen for too long.  When we left Edinburgh our friends were married and just beginning to contemplate children.  On Sunday we ended up in the Botanical Gardens, eight children running around madly, making new friends as their parents tried to catch up on the missing years.  It did appear that it was only us who had changed jobs/life/country with any degree of regularity.  However, nothing matched up to the glories of Gareth's new A-reg Landrover.  I could see my husband drooling in envy, mentally reciting the 10th Commandment over and over again: Thou shalt not covet thy best friend's landrover.

The journey home was late and uneventful, although such a long walk along the platform at Waverley that we were back out in the open air.  Also a cross-country train despite booking through national express.   One day I'm determined I'll understand the world of big business but for now I'll just rejoice in the simple joys of meeting old friends and time together as a family.

Old haunts, old friends (1)

The long weekend gave opportunity to travel to Edinburgh for an overnight stay.

No1 child was studying Castles at school last term so we arranged our train journeys to give us time to see Edinburgh Castle on arrival on Saturday afternoon.  Journey uneventful.  Glorious sunshine in Edinburgh.

On departure from Waverley, beginning the long climb up to our destination at the head of the Royal Mile ('Mum! I'm tired! My legs hurt!'), my husband noticed someone waving madly at us from their car.  We haven't lived in Edinburgh for over 12 years so this was somewhat unexpected.  More surprising still was when we were greeted a couple of minutes later by friends who we thought were in New Zealand.  (They wish they still were.)  It was a former flat-mate of my husband, still living in his university town.

Our children were unimpressed.  No1 child simply wanted to get to the castle...

I believe that neither of us actually visited the castle when living in Edinburgh.  The queues to buy tickets was appalling - surely some better system could be devised?  Another three attendants would have been a good start.  Still, our children loved running around, discovering the different rooms, rushing past all the amazing history and showing only a modicum of interest in the Crown Jewels.  Thank goodness for tea and scones - recuperation medicine for exhausted parents.

We drifted down the Royal Mile in order to catch a bus to Leith.  I reminisced, thinking how beautiful the city of Edinburgh is, how lively and interesting.  We both pointed places out saying, 'Wasn't that a vegetarian cafe?' or 'That's where our friends got married.'  We smiled at the tourist guides giving foreigners a potted history of the sights.  We ambled along, disgusted that the central Post Office is no longer there, remembering lining pennies up along North Bridge in a fund-raising attempt when at University, marvelling that the city is going to get a tramline.

Eventually we plumped for a restaurant on the waterfront at Leith.  Given how posh it was they were remarkably accommodating for us with large, ungainly rucksacks and two exhausted and exhausting children.  A bottle of wine later and we adults at least felt sane again.

A final walk to our B&B for the night.  More reminiscing, as we remembered Easter sunrise services on the mounds on Leith Links.  The regeneration of Leith is quite amazing and a delight to behold.  We finally collapsed into bed - amazed that our children could still want to sit up and read - and slept like logs.

The science of big noses

Another train journey to York, this time with a frustrating, if inconsequential delay.

I arrive at Newcastle station with just enough time to buy my cheap day return and then dash over the bridge to the platform.  On my left is due the 09:30 to London; on my right is the 09:35 to Plymouth.  I note that the 09:30 is due at 09:37, so decide not to wait for that one but turn right to catch the 09:35.  I climb on board, dump my bags in the quiet carriage and retire to the vestibule (when did this word come into use on the trains?) to call Dad and tell him when I'll arrive.

Returning to my seat the ever-so-lovely conductor told us that our train was being delayed: they were allowing the train on the adjoining platform through first!  Aargh!!  I could have caught that!  We were only minutes later, but still - how frustrating.

Dad managed to greet some poor lady alighting from a completely different train but who was wearing a T-shirt like the one I'd worn on Saturday.  Does he think I don't change?  If she's reading this: my apologies for an old man shouting at you and waving madly.  He's really very nice, not the weirdo you spent the rest of the day worrying about.

On the way home in Newcastle, a tall lady got onto the Metro and sat opposite me.  I was struck by her big nose first of all.  She also reminded me of someone ... and then I remembered it was a friend in Zambia.  Presumably she also has a big nose: she certainly is tall.  The mind drifted and I began to wonder whether height and nose size are related.  And how do you measure the size of a nose?  A good patrician hook has a large area in profile but may not extend as far a standard honker.  If you get a tape measure from the top end of your philtrum to the nose-tip, how do you know where nose and philtrum part company?  The extra millimetre either way could be vital.

She's probably another lady I need to apologise to...

Family birthdays

First blog travels: a trip to York to celebrate my nephew's second birthday.  We missed his first by being in Africa but my sister decided he'd most like to spend the day with his cousins. Mother knows best and - judging by No1 child's desire to sit next to him in Pizza Express - she was probably right.

It turns out that the first 10 minutes are spent distributing presents.  My father brought presents for his grandchildren whilst on holiday in Ireland a couple of weeks ago.  My sister brought some Turkish Delight back from a holiday in Crete (I thought the Greek/Turkish relationship was acrimonious: clearly not when it comes to sweets).  I distributed gifts for my father (birthday coming up), my nephew (principal guest of honour!) and my brother-in-law (birthday last week).  I was rather shocked to be given presents myself.  My birthday last weekend had been singularly uneventful, overwhelmed by loads of washing after a week's holiday and a five-year-old's birthday party, so I'd completely forgotten that my family might remember.  

No2 child managed to knock an entire glass of Fanta onto the floor, shattering into a million pieces. It's always her! She has an innate capacity to be a bit clumsy, falling, knocking things over.  Then she looks both horrified and so cute that we all melt and forgive her. Again. Broad grin returns and she's back to her bubbly self and quite prone to repeating the experience.

Still, birthdays mean the book collection is growing.  I now have a tale of murder in Florence, a book about how to write a book, a book about miracles of faith and another about how to be a praying wife.  So I'm reading Nigel Slater's "Toast" and vicariously reliving bits of my childhood.

Travels were totally uneventful.  We did end the day with an hour in the National Railway Museum.  Complete heaven for No1 child.  He walked into the Great Hall and said 'Wow!' as he was faced with dozens of huge steam trains.  We wandered around, marvelling at these extraordinary machines ... then tried to dodge the gift shop, where he found more ways for me to drift towards poverty.  "We're travelling by train," I try to pacify him with.  I ought to know better.